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Trying not to dwell on their Troubles

Belfast, Northern Ireland– A newspaper emblazoned with the headline &quot;Streets of Fire&quot; is not the ideal introduction to a city that is trying to extinguish a bad reputation.

Belfast has a youthful feel these days (36 per cent of its population is under 24 years of age), a renewed optimism about its future and a fun-loving attitude that makes the city attractive to visitors after decades of sectarian strife. (REB STEVENSON PHOTO)

Belfast, Northern Ireland–A newspaper emblazoned with the headline "Streets of Fire" is not the ideal introduction to a city that is trying to extinguish a bad reputation.

But there it is – picture of flames and all – near the reception desk at my hotel in Belfast.

Gulp.

A rash of security alerts has just taken place in the suburbs. The worst involves a stolen van that was torched. And just a couple of weeks earlier, two British soldiers and a police officer were killed by Irish Republican Army splinter groups.

No civilians were hurt, and the suspects were apprehended promptly. But after a decade of peace, any hiccup is an embarrassment to Belfast, which actually boasts a low crime rate per capita.

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In fact, Belfast City is on a major upswing, and the stats concur: Overnight tourism numbers have quadrupled since 1999, and hotel rooms have tripled as the pound has dropped to its lowest level in years, making all of Britain far more affordable.

Frommer's travel guides even selected it as a "top destination" for 2009.

It's late and I'm feeling peckish after my Ryanair flight (this is the airline that recently threatened to charge customers to use the toilet. You think they serve reasonably priced food?), so I venture outside in spite of the irksome headline. Grand Victorian architecture predominates. It's eerily quiet.

Then I do a double-take. Is that smoke billowing from a public garbage can across the street?

Sure enough, it erupts into full-blown flames. The headline streams through my brain like a CNN news ticker: Streets of Fire! Or Garbage Bins of Fire!

Half expecting a mushroom cloud to emerge from the receptacle, I hightail it back to my hotel.

Sleep minimizes the drama, and the morning paper doesn't mention a trash can. I conclude the incendiary action was most likely the work of a boring old cigarette butt.

Then I relax.

Ken McElroy, a local tour guide/poet/playwright, says jitters are par for the course.

"I find that people come in and for the first half day, they might be feeling sort of nervous. But it's a perfectly normal city," he says.

That's the thing about the Troubles, which lasted from 1968 to 1998: They can't be ignored. But Belfastians are moving on.

"It's wrong to dwell on them," says McElroy.

This year Belfast is surging forward with a hearty dose of craic (Irish for fun and enjoyment).

Optimism is in the air. It's also in the ears, in the form of internationally recognized rock band Snow Patrol's latest single "Take Back the City," dubbed "a love song to Belfast."

"God knows you put your life into its hands, and it's both cradled you and crushed. But now it's time to make your own demands."

"Everybody's elated in a way. It's a tone of disbelief," says Stuart Bailie, a broadcaster who launched a musical bus tour of Belfast this spring. The tour takes in the landmarks that inspired the likes of Van Morrison while Bailie cranks the tunes on the p.a. system.

Everyone I approach in Belfast – in the centuries-old pubs, at newsstands, lingering in narrow alleyways called "The Entries' – is thrilled to stop and chat.

"We were deprived of tourism for 30 years, so even the regular guy on the street is happy to see you," McElroy explains.

Locals say they barely recognize their changing city.

"We've become more civilized. Before, if you put anything down and walked away, people would think it was a bomb," says Bryan McCullough, 77, a lifelong Belfastian whom I meet at Victoria Square, a shiny, arcaded shopping centre.

"There's a bit of prosperity about the place now. It looks affluent."

Belfast's mascots, two gargantuan yellow cranes called Samson and Goliath, are a permanent reminder of the city's shipbuilding heritage (a little boat called Titanic was born here, and Belfast is gearing up to mark, in 2012, the 100-year anniversary of its ill-fated maiden voyage).

If you crave roughness, you'll find it lurking on the fringes of Belfast: the Titanic Quarter, the political murals of West Belfast, and along the Peace Wall. You can even purchase a handmade chess set featuring all the players in the Troubles at a store called Open Window Productions.

But what's really sweeping the city is the velvety caress of luxury. Four hotels have opened within the last year, all of them three stars or more. The latest is the 130-room Fitzwilliam Hotel, so hip it would be right at home in Manhattan.

Guinness in a pub? That's slumming it. Try a cocktail that made the Guinness Book of World Records. The Merchant, a bank-turned-five star hotel, serves the world's most expensive cocktail, a £750 (about $1,540 Canadian.) Mai Tai spiked with rare rum.

"There was a guy who had been saving up. He just wanted to try it," reports barman Jack McGarry.

A zillionaire, surely.

"No, I think he was a postman."

Tourist attractions are also spiffing themselves up. Amongst the venues that are reopening this year after major overhauls are Ulster Hall, City Hall and Ulster Museum.

The Crown Liquor Saloon, with gas lighting and "snugs" (private booths) is a perennial favourite, but these days partying amongst the vestiges of industry is the in thing. Three years ago the Cathedral Quarter consisted of dilapidated warehouses and unsavoury loiterers, but is now home to trendy restaurants, bars and art galleries.

I peer down a charming back alley lined with red benches, flower baskets and vintage Guinness signs, where 200 people are known to drink in the open air on any given Saturday night.

I suppose this is their way of Taking Back the City.

Just don't expect a wee version of Dublin: Belfast is still grittier, harder, and, well, sometimes the newspaper headlines make your pulse do a little jig.

Like Snow Patrol sings: "It's a rough work of art."

Reb Stevenson is a Toronto-based freelancer. She can be reached through her website at www.rebstevenson.com. Her trip was subsidized by Tourism Ireland.

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